


Cooking for Three Houses

by RogueDruid (Icarius51)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comedy, Cooking, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food Porn, Garreg Mach Monastery, Gen, Nobility, Slice of Life, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Therapy, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarius51/pseuds/RogueDruid
Summary: Reincarnated into the mythical land of Fodlan, a young man makes his way to the officer's academy of Garreg Mach Monastery.He doesn't seek to be a warrior, but to instead be as much help as he can.Thankfully, he's pretty good at comfort food.





	1. New guy in town

_‘Another cycle. Endless time spent trying and failing to save her people, her lovers, her friends and allies and enemies. So much death…. And so little time.’_

She wandered the Garreg Mach Monastery for the first time this cycle, having just been invited to be a professor once more. She was going to try the Black Eagles again, try to convince and guide Edelgard. As she walked she glanced up, expression placid and relaxed even as her eyes lingered on the people she now knew so well.

There, smiling and waving, was Harris, the fisherman who managed the pond, keeping the stall of bait and gear stocked.

As she passed him, he gave a familiar smile, and she gave a wave in return.

She could see Silvana, the gardener, as she wandered around the glass of the greenhouses, the familiar color of dirt stains on her apron, and her blond hair in an unruly bun even as she smiled and chatted with a young man from the nearby village. Byleth had heard the story a few times already, the young man, Ned, was courting a young tailor and was looking for flowers for her.

She turned, walking up the long courtyard that separated the student dorms from the kitchens when she blinked.

Above her, a man leaned over the railing next to the kitchen, a thin line of smoke drifting up. The familiar design of his clothes was clearly that of the kitchen staff, but he wasn’t wearing the crest of Seiros. He wasn’t wearing any of the distinguishing crests at all.

And she didn’t recognize him.

She glanced back down and wracked her brain, sifting through memories. Had she ever passed him in a hall? Or seen him when she went to cook or have meals with her students?

She kept drawing a blank.

Glancing back, she saw the still-relaxed form blow out a long, thin cloud of faintly blue smoke, before shoving off the railing and turning away.

She could barely see the deep glint of blue eyes as he glanced at her before wandering past the corner and out of view.

She wanted to charge up to him. To interrogate him. To threaten him for anything he knew, any changes he could bring to the story that she was trapped in.

But she could wait. No point in screwing up the rest of this loop by causing a scene just yet. She would have plenty of time to investigate.

Byleth Eisner was not going to let this new lead go.

She would go start up the work needed to teach the Black Eagles. Perhaps she could ask Sothis to investigate the new guy when she woke up after the exhaustion of resetting the loop again.

* * *

Salvatore von Ramsey, the Sous Chef of the Monastery, glanced up as his newest cook wandered back in from his break. The younger man was a wanderer, someone who had come to the monastery to hone the craft they shared not even a week prior. While he had a solid grasp of the skills of his trade, Sal was far more interested in the sheer variety of foods the young man knew. It had taken only a day or two for the pair to hit it off, and Sal was always looking for people who could assist him in the kitchen, particularly with the school year in full swing and the sheer variety of cultures that would be in the monastery at any moment. He and Elisa, the Head Chef, had taken the younger man in with little ceremony or grandstanding.

“Lorn! How was your break?”

“Good, good. I need to find somewhere better to catch a moment to myself though. While the view from that balcony is great, I got a weird look for smoking out there.”

Ah, that's right. Lorn Williams was one of the few people in the monastery who smoked, though he preferred far smaller, rolled ‘cigarettes’ to the hefty cigars and pipes of the older knights. As the two settled in to start prepping for the dinner rush, they got to chatting.

“You said you’ve traveled? And only recently got to Fodlan?”

“Aye. I rarely stay in one place for more than a few years. I prefer to learn what I can, keep things steady, and then wander on to a new place. Have since I was… oh, seventeen? That's when I left my first job. Worked as a craftsman, a scholar, a cleaner, a gardener… I found myself a job as a cook in a tavern oh… four years ago? When I was twenty. Found I enjoyed the work, but I still love to wander. Been in and out of taverns and restaurants for the last few years. Picked up plenty of recipes.”

Sal nodded and glanced up, gazing at the light slanting through the window as he checked the time. “Finish up the pasta salads and start carving up that boar from the morning's hunt. Figure we’ll get a nice couple meals off it until the knights get bored and find us something new.”

“Heh, will do.”

As Lorn headed off to deal with his orders, Sal smiled.

It was nice to have a full kitchen staff again.

* * *

Lorn Williams, once known by another name in another world, hummed to himself.

_‘Mom always did say that a cook can find a job anywhere in the world. Apparently, that applies to more than just my first.’_

He slid the sashimi-style knife in his hand along the bone of the boar shoulder he was breaking down. His knives and other kitchen gear were one of the only things from his old world that he had kept after waking up in the portside capital city of the Leicester Alliance, Derdriu. It had taken only a few months to get his bearings before realizing he was in the chaos that was the world of Fire Emblem. A few weeks of study and research had also led him to the far more important answer: that he had shown up a year before the start of the game when Byleth would show up at the Academy. Far too late to solve any great problems, not that he really remembered a lot of the small details of backstory.

He was too old for the Academy anyway.

It was only when someone traveling through the port mentioned the Monastery was looking for cooks that the opportunity was presented and his idle thoughts turned into an actual plan.

He might not be able to change the fate of the world… but he was more than able to make the students more comfortable. Packing up the meager gear that his life had been reduced to, he had taken up with a caravan and headed inland.

And now, here he was.

As the last of the meat slid free, he tossed the bone into the simmering pot at his side, where the start of a Demi-glace was beginning to form.

‘_I may not be able to save the body, but a good cook can soothe the soul. And that will have to be enough.’_

As he sliced the pork into thin strips to salt and dry, he began to hum. A familiar tune, stripped of lyrics. It was uplifting, but he remembered the lyrics and the weight they held.

_‘This man is dead, he is no more._

_He died a little each day_

_Like a thief, the Château d'If has stolen him away…’_

Call him strange, but he always did enjoy classics done a new way, and had a fond spot for the tale of Edmond Dantes.


	2. Raphael (Rank D)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael is known for his appetite, and Lorn knows just the thing to sate it.

Raphael Kirsten sighed as he finished the latest round of exercises, the late evening air cool against him as he set a large pile of logs, freshly cut and carried up from the forest to sit in the monastery supply closet. The hundreds of pounds of wood had been a great exercise! Even now, with his hands dusty in wood grains and the simple canvas shirt he wore covered in splinters, he felt accomplished.

And, as the deep rumble of his stomach reminded him, he was hungry too.

He already had dinner a few hours ago… but perhaps there was still something left he could snack on? His muscles needed the fuel!

Dusting off his shirt, he wandered to the bag nearby, pulling out his carefully folded uniform shirt and buttoning it up loosely. It was always too tight for comfort anyway, but considering how expensive it was to get into the academy, he had long since decided not to bring it up or complain. What was a little discomfort to the stress he had put his sister through!

Stepping back to the pile, he grabbed the crate of much smaller chopped firewood he was planning to use in his room, as well as enough to share if the need arose. Glancing at the work axe he had borrowed, he set it back on the rack in the woodshed before heading up the path, climbing the tall flights of stairs set into the hill to reach the Monastery.

As he wandered up through the main gate into the market square, he smiled, catching sight of the blacksmith who had made his gauntlets, Dominic. “Hiya Dom! How goes it!”

“Ah, it goes well, young Raphael! The business is good! The mercenaries who followed the Blade Breaker have much to fix, sell and buy!” With a thick leather apron and hefty torso, the blacksmith was one of the few people who could match Raphael in size, if not quite in muscle.

“Good to hear it! Those gauntlets you made have been working great! Though I might need to get them fixed up in a few weeks.” Another deep rumble from his stomach drew Dom’s attention. “I’m heading up, talk to you soon!”

Chuckling, the man waved him away. “Of course, of course. A growing boy like you needs what you can get! Must keep the arms strong!”

A wave in return and the tall tanned man turned back to his stall while Raphael adjusted the crate and headed along the wall, passing by the fishing pond as he made for his room. The usually bright blue water now looked nearly purple, the gleam of dusk casting the sky a gradient of purple and blue, while the water reflected the first stars from above. A few minutes of adjusting and setting the crate near his fireplace, and he made his way to the cafeteria, only stopping to splash some water over his hands, feeling the uneven calluses and blisters with familiar pride.

He broke from his distraction with his hands as his stomach rumbled once more, even as he slipped through the door into the darkened hall of the cafeteria. Much of the hall was cleared of plates, but there were always a few baskets of fruits or bread sat on a table near the kitchen, even when the chefs had gone for the day.

Tonight, strangely, Raphael could hear the faint sounds of humming as he drew closer, the light of a still-going flame and the clatter of pots and pans shifting drawing him closer, as he smelled the familiar scent of spices and meat.

“Hello?”

For a second, the clattering stopped and a guy leaned out around the corner, eyebrow raised. Raphael noticed his apron was covered with specks of flour and a smear of some sort of green and leafy paste was across his brow. A blue bandanna covered the man’s hair and matched the blue of his eyes. But judging from the man's stubble and short beard, he was a brunette.

“Evening, can I help you, sir?”

“Ah, I'm not a noble, the name’s Raphael!” Stepping forward, he held out a hand. “I was just hoping to swing by and grab something to snack on before heading to bed!”

Smiling, the new cook met him, gripping his hand firmly and giving a shake. “Ah, I’ve heard rumors of you! An appetite to match your strength. Name’s Lorn myself, a pleasure to put a name to a reputation.” With a smile, he let go and glanced around. “I take it you’re looking for something a bit meatier than the fruit and bread for your snack?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble-”

“Nonsense, nonsense. I was hired to help keep you young lords, ladies, and knights in training fed. Hmmm…” Reaching up, Lorn rubbed at his chin in thought, ignoring the streak of white that he left on his cheek as Raphael wondered if he should comment on it. “I can whip you up a nice snack. It shouldn’t take more than a moment. Feel free to grab some fruit though, a body like yours needs all the food you can get.”

Grinning, Raphael followed the advice even as the far more slender man ducked into the kitchen, the sound of a pan sizzling with meat sounding out along with the clatter of a few other things moving about. As he came back and rested against the counter, he found himself with a clear view of the cook, a flat pan with two thick slices of bread and a small pile of shredded meat on the stove, while he chopped and sliced tomato and onion with deft hands.

“I was expecting Salvatore or Elisa to be around?”

Glancing back at the comment, Lorn spoke over his shoulder as his hands worked.

“I’ve been hired on as the evening and night watch for the kitchen. Apparently, not many like the night as I do, and they’ve been covering it themselves with help from the other cooks. Sal is off grabbing the last food the merchants have for the night so we can prep for the morning, while Elisa headed up to chat with the church head, Rhea, about an upcoming harvest. Meanwhile, I'm just doing some catch up on a few things before settling in for a night of watching the fire and prep work. Johann, Vera, and Sophia all headed off earlier to hit the tavern in town.”

“Leaving you by yourself?” Raphael was concerned. Was that bad? Would he be overworked?

“It's not bad. Sal is gonna be back in the next hour or so, and I'm more than able to handle the kitchen until then. Pretty sure it's a bit of a test, too. See how I handle the pressure.” At that, he began pulling the bread and meat off the pan, throwing them on a platter as he assembled a thick sandwich, leafy greens layered with onions, tomato, and thinly-sliced boar. He carved several thin slices of a pale cheese and smeared a garlic and pepper aioli that was thick with spices across the top piece of bread. Running his knife down it to split it open, he flipped one half so both cut sides were facing out and walked it to the counter, sliding it across for Raphael to gaze at. “Here ya go, a boar sandwich for a man with an appetite.”

“Sweet! It looks great, Lorn!”

“I’m glad! Feel free to sit around and snack down, I gotta get back to the fires and pots. Call if ya need me.”

As the younger man pushed off, Raphael took his first large bite of the sandwich and gave a happy grunt. The boar was crispy and savory, and the crunch of the bread was soothed and accented by the spice of the sauce and the juicy tomato. As he chewed and nodded to himself, he took another bite.

_‘Tasty! I have got to remember this.’_

The next few minutes were spent in comfortable silence as Raphael finished the sandwich with eagerness before grabbing and biting into an apple and cleaning his platter up. He walked into the kitchen to find Lorn humming as he stirred a large cauldron of bones and vegetables. A moment of glancing around and Raphael set his dishes in the corner of the room with the washbasin, before heading back towards the door.

“Thanks for the meal, Lorn! Have a nice evening!”

“Thanks, Raphael, feel free to swing by anytime.”

With a smile, he headed to his dorm, a belly full of food, a day of hard work behind him, and a comfortable bed in his near future.

It was a good night.

And who knows? Tomorrow could be even better!


	3. Bernadetta D-rank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneaky teen aquires a midnight snack.

In the dark of the night, Bernadetta Von Varley awoke.

“Hhnnnnnn...”

The soft groan slipped from the petite girl’s lips as she twisted and turned, before sitting up on her bed. The past day had been so stressful! A new professor, hearing about the fight in the woods. She just couldn’t handle it! She had cooped herself up in her room as soon as she could, barely staving off yet another panic attack before spending the last few hours sitting and cuddled under her covers. It was only now, as darkness fell upon the Academy, that she realized just how hungry she was.

She crept out of her bed, slipping a cloak over her disheveled uniform and pulling it tight against the faint chill of the night air.

As she wandered to her door, she froze, heart beating as she leaned against the wood.

“It’s fine, Bernie. All you have to do is go out the door, around the pond, and up to the cafeteria. Simple.”

A deep breath… or a few of them, and she cracked the door open with a slow push, eyes roaming the courtyard.

No one.

Darting from the door, she took off, moving quickly to the wall of the cafeteria and beginning to circle the building to the entrance. She halted at the corner, glancing around and sighing in relief at the lack of anyone near the pond, before rushing up the stairs to the cafeteria.

“Don’t see me don’t see me don’t see me don’t see me….”

Her soft mantra continued with each step until she reached and slipped through the door into the cafeteria.

Where she froze, seeing the faint glow of a light in the kitchen.

“No… Why… Why is someone awake!” Bernadetta hissed to herself even as she creeped up and across the cafeteria towards the kitchen, only to slow and blink.

_‘Bread?’_

Indeed, the closer she got the thicker and headier the smell of bread became. As she finally crouched at the serving counter, she saw through the half open door into the kitchen. And she could hear something as well. Singing, raspy and soft. She didn’t recognize the song, but she could see a taller man dressed in a cook uniform kneading and mixing bread.

“_-live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine…”_

His motions were hypnotic. Hands folding and flattening with large movements, twisting and kneading the dough in his hands as he added flour or water as he went, head tilting as the dough smoothed out, before being stretched and shaped from a ball to a long, flat oval. When he was done, he set it on a tray, which Bernadetta noticed was covered with another dozen or so uncooked loaves.

Bernadetta felt frozen. She wasn’t expecting anyone here, and it was suddenly all she could think of. What if he yelled at her! Or called the guard! She could be in trouble, or expelled, or he could turn and throw something, or- or-

“_-As we live a life of ease, Everyone of us has all we need-_” He clapped his hands, a cloud of flour poofing as he turned, walking over to the oven and opening the hatch, revealing the dark stone chamber above the fire box.

“-Ah, there we go… Finally figured you out you clunky hunk of junk.” With quick and deft hands, a pair of large golden brown loaves of bread came sliding out, resting on the counter as he shook his hands out. “So, about 14 minutes? That seems about right…”

As the cook stood and stretched, Bernadetta twitched and finally unfroze, deciding to make her move. Sneaking over to the basket of fruit nearby and pulling out several apples, crouching to stash them in her pockets. She just wanted to go back to her room. To sleep and ignore the world and let her pounding heart-

She froze as the kitchen door swung open and the cook walked out, yawning as he rubbed at his jaw. She almost snorted as the act left his small goatee covered in white, before he walked over to the door out to the pond balcony, stepping through.

Bernadetta slowly stood and glanced at the other door, out through the garden.

But the smell of bread…

She dashed around the counter with quiet steps and glanced into the kitchen, nervously, before she saw it.

Hidden from the door by the angle, there was a small stack of much smaller loaves of bread, but each had some dark spots or char on the bottom.

Suddenly it clicked, they were failed loaves! He must be getting use to the kitchen still...

She glanced back nervously before snagging several of the least burned loaves and a small loaf of cheese and dashing back out of the kitchen, rushing out the door into the garden and making her way around to her room in a rush, spoils in hand.

* * *

Lorn breathed deeply of the night air, and exhaled a long slow plume of smoke from his lips.

He was still getting used to this. To living in a world so far from what he knew.

If he didn’t pick up a new vice, it’s likely he would have gone insane. Thankfully, there was a tobacco analog in this world that worked just fine and was even apparently somewhat healthier. Though, considering how bad cigarettes back on earth were, it wasn’t a hard bar to cross.

He blinked, leaning against the railing as he saw a rushing form dart down and through the courtyard separating the dorms from the cafeteria, only the glint of starlight off her dark hair shifting faintly violet showed who she was.

_‘Purple hair? That's… Bernadette? Right? The shy one?’_

He blinked and narrowed his eyes in confusion as she fumbled and pushed into her room.

“Huh.”

It wasn’t until he got back and noticed that the door to the kitchen was wide open, and that the stack of burned loaves was smaller, that he put it together.

_‘...That's fucked up.’_ Thinking about what he remembered of the girl’s story, he scowled lightly. ‘_She needs more than burned bread and fruit.’_

Looking at the kitchen, he saw it. An old picnic basket on a higher shelf.

_‘Huh… There's an idea.’_

Grinning, Lorn made a note to ask Sal about the basket.

In the meantime, he still had bread to finish proofing and baking off.

Rolling his sleeves up, he got back to work.


	4. Seteth (D Rank)

As the morning drew closer, the false light of dawn chasing the stars from the sky, Lorn stretched, looking over a clean and fully prepped kitchen.

“Very nice, Mister Williams.”

The cool and relaxed voice of Elisa Clover, the head of the kitchen, echoed from behind the younger man, prompting him to turn and give a shallow bow. “I aim to please, ma’am.”

Elisa stepped up, her shorter plump frame looking matronly in the familiar white smock and tailored clothes of a Head Chef. Before her, he felt slightly shabby, the sheer black of his uniform a sharp contrast to her dark burgundy-colored outfit.

Privately, Lorn believed that how a Head Chef wore an outfit revealed if they deserved it. And Elisa? The impeccable outfit, and the casual confidence as if she could work for three days straight and not have a hair out of place.

She deserved it.

As he rose from his brow, she gave a soft smile. “Good work on your first night shift. No problems?”

“None at all. A few guards and students looking for a snack, and I kept plenty busy.”

“Wonderful. Feel free to leave for the morning. I’ll see you at five this evening.”

“Of course. Have a pleasant breakfast.”

Stepping aside as Elisa swept into the kitchen, clearly beginning her planning for breakfast, Lorn moved to a small chest near the door, swapping the black overcoat of his work outfit for a simple jacket, tanned leather with a cotton lining dyed deep purple. Much like his work shirt, it was double breasted, but the make of the material and its quality spoke of travel. Shrugging until it fit snugly, he drew out his satchel, storing the black shirt inside next to his bundle of knives and personal tools.

As he stepped out of the kitchen, he snagged a sweet pear from a bowl, a small knife coming to hand as he carved slices out, He ate them as he glanced around, eyes still somewhat widened by the sheer scale of the Garrag Mach Monastery.

Eventually, he found his way to the bridge between the entrance hall and the church cathedral itself., and took a moment to lean against the stone crenelations along the side, breath misting in the cool of the morning air as he savored the sweetness of the pear.

He loved the night shift, but there was always that weird moment when he got off. When he was awake, wired from work. When the world seemed to be asleep, but stirring.

As he finished the last of his pear, he pulled a small handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blade and his hands, before glancing back up, seeing the distant sky begin to shift, glowing and flickering with the first colors of dawn.

“It’s a marvelous sight, isn’t it?”

The voice was soft, and almost made Lorn drop his knife, only hard-won reflexes tightening his grip even as he looked to the side.

Stepping from the shadows of the church gate, Seteth strode forward with slow steps.

“Morning, sir,” Lorn called softly, before turning, knife sliding into his belt as he balled up his handkerchief and looked back at the brightening horizon.

“Morning yourself, young man.” Planting his feet, Seteth joined him, staring out across the sea of trees as the sun began to crest, the sky turning pale and streaks of blue passing over them.

As the sound of birds began to echo from the trees, the air on the bridge became slightly more tense, Seteth looking at Lorn with a raised eyebrow. “I admit. It’s a surprise to find someone here so early. I thought the main gates were still closed to visitors for a while longer.”

Blinking, the younger man nodded, smiling softly. “I’ve been up all night. The name’s Lorn, sir. Lorn Williams. The new night cook for the cafeteria. I got off not even an hour ago.”

Blinking, Seteth gave a soft noise of comprehension. “I would have thought you’d have headed off to sleep by now? You have a dorm beneath the staff quarters in the barracks, do you not?”

“Ah, I’ve never been good at crashing to sleep so quickly.” Gesturing out at the sea of trees, Lorn let the soft smile on his face shift to wry amusement. “The world waking up always seems to keep sleep away, and seeing a moment like this? It’s worth a little less sleep.”

Lorn noticed Seteth stare at him, and glance back at the forested valley.

“I suppose it is beautiful.”

For a few more minutes, the two stared out at the morning, before with a distant boom, the church bell began to ring, six long clangs signalling the start of the morning for the castle.

As the echo slowly trailed off, Seteth sighed, the sound clear in the last moments of the morning stillness.

“Have a good morning, Williams. I hope sleep comes easy.”

“Of course, sir. I hope your morning is calm and productive yourself.”

As the two parted ways, Lorn gave a flick of his hand, the small pile of pear seeds he had been collecting on the crenelations falling to the ground far below.

_‘Seteth… You need to let things grow. To move forward and grow toward the sun. You and Rhea… The church… you’ve spent so long digging deeper, sending your roots across Fódlan.’_

As Lorn turned away, he glanced back at the chapel, his thoughts following strange paths as he let his feet carried him to a comfortable bunk.

_‘You ignore the way you choke the garden you were left. Is it any surprise that evil things came slithering into the shade of the roots? I only hope that by caring for the garden you neglect, things turn out for the better.’_

He crossed off the bridge into the entrance hall and shoved such deep thoughts away.

Sleep awaited him.

He could focus on the people as they came.


	5. Lysithea (D Rank)

The faint ringing of church bells woke Lorn up once more as the morning came to a close. With a sigh, he pushed off his bunk, careful to keep his head from the barracks’ roof. A glance out the window and a check of the angle of the sun said it was noon.

The barracks were built against the outer walls of the monastery, hidden in their shadows and reinforced against the fortifications. The knights and their commanders had rooms deeper into the walls themselves, in easy reach of the guard patrols and with quick access to the ramparts where they took command. The civilian servants, however, were placed with easier access to the monastery itself.

As Lorn pushed off the bunk and landed on his feet, he rubbed his face, reaching out to grab a clean pair of clothes from the drawers under his thin mattress. A minute of changing and he was dressed in a new pair of black pants, fresh socks, and a new, button-up white shirt. A moment to kick on his boots and grab his work bag, and he was off, wandering up through the academy.

He had checked when he had taken the job and been happy to find that part of the benefits of working for the church was access to the lower grade levels of the library. He wasn’t allowed to check out more than one book at a time, but there were plenty of things to read.

Following a year-old memory of how the building was laid out in the game, he wandered up from the barracks and into the monastery proper. It took only a few minutes to reach the main building and even less to make his way up to the library, hands in his pockets.

_‘Reason magic… I know there are spells for both Ice and Fire… but are there smaller scale versions?’_

Already the ideas were coming to his mind. Rapidly cooling pastries to finish them faster, heating up grills faster and hotter, hell, ice cream and sorbet.

He had needs, man.

He just had to learn magic to make them feasible.

* * *

Lysithea von Ordelia sighed as she slid yet another text back onto the shelves of the library.

Another dead end.

She glanced around and frowned. That was the seventh work on the ailments of the human body she had read, and it still wasn’t enough information. She had known ahead of time that this was a longshot. That her… illness, was supposedly incurable. But every lead she tracked down merely made it all the more apparent.

She glanced at the titles of the books, searching for a lead, something, _anything._

“You know, a common reason for bad food is that there’s too much going on in the plate. Sweet and bitter, sour and spicy. Some combinations just don’t work.”

Lysithea paused and turned, taking in the tall and fairly square man sitting several tables away. Trained eyes and paranoia took in the older man. Shaggy brown hair pulled back in a loose tail, deep blue eyes and tanned features. His clothes were durable, but closer to what she saw Leonie and Raphael wear than someone like Claude. Clearly the outfit was bought for use, not style.

“Excuse you?” A slow blink and those blue eyes looked up from his book, eyebrow quirked. “Were you talking to me?”

Another blink and a sheepish shift. “Ah, my apologies, miss. I was thinking aloud. I’m a cook, you see. I tend to try and coach things in more easily remembered terms. Was trying to memorize a simple exercise.”

Lysithea nodded, biting her lip even as she considered her next words. What he said was lingering in her mind, making her think of… something. A possible idea? She needed more.

“You mentioned something about bad food, yes?”

“Ah, I was just thinking about how it seems some spells react poorly with others. This book has plenty of warnings about mixing parts of spells.” As he lifted the book, Lysithea took in the familiar cover of ‘Havela’s Elemental Basics.’ While she preferred darker magic for her combat, that was still a remarkably comprehensive tome for beginners.

“Really? Why would you be concerned about it?”

At this the older man rubbed the back of his head, chuckling softly. “It's a bit awkward... but I want to develop a weaker version of Blizzard and Fire. I know it can be done, I’ve seen weaker variants before, but I don't quite know… where to start. I’ve only a little experience with magic, you see. I never really got a chance to learn any of it where I grew up, and not a lot of time when I was working and traveling.” He tapped at the book and his face grew softer. “A few recipes of mine need a cooling spell to make… including one of my favorite sweets.”

Lysithea paused and mumbled into her hand. “I… I guess I could help? If- if you let me try that sweet, of course!”

Glancing up, surprise on his face, the older man grinned. “Really! That would be awesome miss- ah. I’m sorry, never introduced myself!” He stood and bowed slightly, hand over his heart. “The name is Lorn Williams, new cook here at the monastery.”

Smiling awkwardly, she responded with a soft nod and the faintest curtsey. “Lysithea von Ordelia, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Williams. Now, what do you need these spells of yours to do?”

With a smile and eager eyes, the cook laid out his needs.

By the time the evening began to descend and the cook had to leave for work, the two had hashed out a simple set of goals.

And as Lorn waved goodbye once more, leaving with a quick pace, Lysithea could only remember his words.

_‘Too many conflicting ingredients… Could… could I remove a crest?’_

It would be worth looking into… and Professor Hanneman was the foremost expert on crests. Could he help her?

This would bear consideration.

But, in the meantime, she now had a simple project to keep her mind off it.

* * *

As Lorn wandered through the academy halls, heading for the kitchens, he tucked the book into his satchel.

_'I hope she picked up on my hint. And that that asshole Solon didn’t hear us. I saw him leave before I spoke up, but who knows if that actually kept it secret.’_

He stretched lightly, eyes narrowed as he considered his backup plans.

_‘It's too early to poison anyone. Not until I have evidence to clear my name, and a surefire way to make sure they stay dead. And that would only take out either Jeritza or Solon. Their schedules are too different. Shit. Too many players to track, and not enough ways to keep them off my back if I start a fight… Patience. I’ve waited a year for the story to start. I can wait a few more months, get to know people. Diplomacy is still my strongest weapon. If I can just get all three houses facing the same enemy and aware of their reasons to do so…’_

He sighed and glanced across the courtyard, eyes narrowed as he thought of Byleth.

_‘I’m going to need to work with you… But will you trust me?’_

Well. Food for thought.


	6. Ashe (d-rank)

Lorn stepped into the kitchen and took a deep breath of that special blend that screamed _good food; _the scent of woodsmoke from flames mixed with the smell of sizzling meat and vegetables. The clouds of steam and spices were so heavy that he could taste it from the door. He tightened his apron, adjusted his bandana, and strode into the chaos.

It took only a second to find Salvatore, knife in hand moving at a blur as he chopped onions into finely diced piles. “Where do you need me boss?”

“Ah, Williams! Need you on pastries. Jam on the counter, your dough from last night already pulled and second rise finished. Need five platters minimum, six or more if you can.”

And like that, he was off.

The pastries were simple. A layered, flaky dough folded into small circles and crimped around jams, topped with a dash of sugar, which would caramelize nice and gold in the ovens.

With deft hands, Lorn got to work.

* * *

Ashe dusted off his hands, small flakes of lettuce and cabbage falling free with the motion. He looked up and saw the head chef, Elisa, as she strode around the kitchen. He had spent the last hour and a half working in the kitchen, taking advantage of the opportunity to earn some spending money and extra credit from the church, and help keep any extra strain off his adopted father. It helped that he enjoyed cooking.

He dried his hands and looked around, humming as he searched for where he could help next, before seeing a new face. Near the ovens in the back, a bright blue bandanna drew the eyes, hands moving and specks of flour across the man’s apron.

“Lonato, greens done?”

Jumping, Ashe nodded, turning and giving a short bow. “Yes, Elisa.”

She nodded, sharp green eyes roving the kitchen, taking it in as each component of the meal was finished up; from the sauces done by Johann, the Kingdom native moving between pots with speed and focus, to Vera on the fire, her spatula and tongs moving meat and roots across the flame with a frightening intensity. Sophia was moving as well, preparing trays of vegetables and fruit, some of which she had just cut, and making salads and elegant dressings for each part of the meal. Large pans and dishes moved about as each part was finished, a wave of her hand spreading garnishes and decorative components.

“Okay, we’re almost ready to start serving. Ashe, go help Williams, the new guy, finish panning up and baking the dessert. Me and Sophia are gonna start moving the rest to get ready and serve.”

Nodding, Ashe darted towards the back, swinging around a counter with a grace learned in far less welcoming environments, and stepped up next to the taller cook.

“Here to help, Ashe Ubert. What do you need?” When Ashe looked, he saw that several pans had been covered in simple pastries and topped with a dark sugar.

“Extra hands? Sweet. Speak up if I lose you, but I need you to do it just like this. Roll the dough out thin and wide. For the pastry on the bottom, this size.” He lifted a teacup from his side, flipped it upside down, and cut the pastry, making a circle with a faint design around the outside edge. “Drop a thumb-sized dollop of jam, my thumb, not yours, and then drop another circle on top. Squeeze with the cup to crimp the edge, and then we lift onto pan like so-” A slide of a cleaned and floured metal pastry cutter lifted the perfect pastry and set it on the pan. “And to finish, a dust of brown sugar mix.” And with that, he slid a bowl of dough across the counter to the silver-haired teen. “Teacup is from the set in the corner, a roller is third cupboard over, and there’s a cutter in that drawer. Questions?”

“No, sir.” Grinning at the recipe, Ashe got right to work.

Side by side, the two worked in silence, Ashe rolling up his sleeves and moving quickly as he could too-

“Slow down, kid. The faster you go, the messier you get. Do it smooth, and you’ll pick up speed.”

Startled by the words, Ashe glanced over to see blue eyes checking his work.

“We have half an hour to finish these before I start baking them off. I can only bake them two at a time in the oven. We need at least six. It takes twelve minutes per batch. They go out on platters of three in an hour and then get refreshed an hour later. Even if we are still finishing this part, we can overlap.” Looking back down at his work, the cook continued, “Rushing only ever gets poor results.”

Breathing deep, Ashe nodded and got to work, being careful to take his time and get it right.

Twenty minutes later, the last pastry slid onto the seventh of the pans and the two started cleaning up the counter.

“Good work.”

“Thanks. I don’t think we’ve met. Ashe Ubert, heir to house Lonato.” Holding out his hand, still covered in flour, the cook took it in a firm grasp.

“Lorn Williams. Cook, traveler, and occasionally giver of philosophical advice.”

Grinning, they shook and started wiping down the counters before sliding the pastries into the oven.

“Alright, that’s all I need you for. Head out and check with Elisa… but I think you’re clear for the day.”

“It was nice to meet you.” Ashe gave a smile, and bowed, Lorn returning the gesture.

“See ya around, kid.”

Waving, Ashe jogged off to talk to the head cook while Lorn looked back to the oven, eyes tracking the dough as it slowly rose and grew flakey.

“I forgot how nice that kid was.”

* * *

As Ashe walked back to his dorm, the apron folded under his arm and flakes of flour streaked up his wrist, he considered the cook’s advice.

“Take my time…”

He breathed deep and exhaled slowly, centering himself as if he was nocking an arrow, sighting the target. Wasn’t that what he was always taught? The lessons he learned even as a street rat? Take his time, mark his target. Had he really forgotten, or had he chosen to ignore his instincts?

He looked back, making a decision. He has ignored his father’s plight for too long. Lonato deflected whenever Ashe asked to help run and take on the burdens the old lord carried. But he had seen the manage under the stress, humor fleeing his face as he read letters and spoke to his retainers.

“I should write to Lonato…”

Who knew. Maybe his father would accept his help this time. And if Dimitri helped, perhaps he could even lessen some of the strain…


	7. Threshold: Great Tree Moon (Gatekeeper D-rank)

The kitchen was quiet now. Dinner had come and gone, and the rest of the crew had helped clean before heading off. Sal had mentioned that if something happened that he was just a quick jog away at the barracks and would be more than glad to help if something came up.

Raphael had come by for a moment, grabbing another sandwich and some fruit, and chatting for a moment. In fact, he had brought up something interesting.

Most of the teaching staff, Rhea, Seteth, and the three houses would be away for most of tomorrow and the day after, trekking out to a training ground a short distance from the monastery and running field exercises to start off the new semester. After Raphael left, Lorn wiped down the counter and let his thoughts run loose, the general mass of students quickly vanishing to get an early night’s sleep.

‘_The prologue is officially over… Chapter one begins when the students get back.’ _he rubbed a small stain away, and flexed his hand. ‘_I have under a year before things truly begin. Hell, less than that, if I want to prevent the start of the Crimson Flower and Edelgard’s breakaway.’ _Sighing he tossed the rag to the small bucket in the corner of the counter.

With the counter clean, he glanced up at the bay of windows, seeing only the faint glow of the setting sun, dark in a way that meant the night was already wrapping the edges of the monastery.

Walking from the kitchen, he stepped out the door and moved to his now familiar perch on the patio overlooking the pond and the greenhouse below.

A moment of rummaging through his pockets came up with the simple metal case and his old zippo lighter. He had been somewhat surprised that the lighter, while unusual, wasn’t so advanced that it vanished like his phone had when he woke up all those months ago on the dockside. He had even asked a merchant and learned that more than a few nobles had similar devices, if a bit more archaic. He popped the case and slid a rolled up cigarette from its slot, lifting it to his mouth and hiding the end from the breeze as he lit up.

The acrid taste and rush of nicotine cleared his thoughts, and he stored the case and lighter back into the pockets from whence they came, puffing into the spring air as he leaned on the bannister.

_‘God, what am I doing here… I could have left. Could have traveled away and only come back at the end of this shitstorm, however it ended.’ _he breathed deep, and exhaled slowly. ‘_I know I can't let things be… but dammit, if there was ever a time to not guilt trip myself this would be it.’_

Smoke drifted up as he exhaled.

“Heya! Are you Lorn?” Twisting back, the cook blinked. White armor, cheerful voice, and a familiar style of domed helm held under one arm. The young man, likely no older than Lorn himself, had deep golden-red hair sheared short on the sides and left only slightly longer on top, deep brown eyes gleaming almost amber in the half light against the dense freckles that patterned up his cheeks.

“I am indeed, and you good knight?” Lorn bowed slightly, enough to be polite, the hand with the cigarette held to the side so the smoke drifted away from the two of them.

“Heh, I’m not a knight, just a guardsman. The names Garren! I’m the gatekeeper for the day shift over near the market.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, much to Lorn’s amusement. “Anyway, I realized a while ago that you just got hired recently, so you probably don’t know yet. When there's a big thing where most of the students head out like this practice day, the monastery is left for us knights and guards to run, and as long as we keep the place clean, the off-shift members tend to hang out here in the mess hall, usually with some bottles of mead and playing cards. I was wondering if you wanted to join us in the festivities? I’m sure that we could offer you a bottle for something to eat that isn’t half-charred by Alois.”

Lorn smirked at that and drew a mouthful of smoke while humming slightly. He spoke, smoke drifting from his mouth. “You know, I would be honored. I’ve missed having drinking partners to bitch with.”

Garren smiled, rubbing his neck. “Wonderful! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” He started walking down the stairs and the cook couldn’t resist, leaning against the bannister with a smirk on his lips as he blew out another puff of smoke and called out.

“It’s a date, then.”

Even in the evening dusk, the blush from Garren was nearly incandescent.

Lorn had to bite back giggles as the gatekeeper nearly stumbled into the fishers shack, hand on the back of his neck as he tried to keep looking professional.

As Garren eventually vanished between the buildings on his way back to the barracks, Lorn finished the last of his cigarette, dropping the smouldering butt into a trash bin as he wandered back into the kitchen.

_‘A guardsmen and knight get together… I think we need some bar food.’_

And since he worked in a bar for the last year or so, he had just the things.

He was so happy they had corn and peppers in Fodlan, it made things easier.

* * *

Hours later, hands covered in cornmeal and apron scattered with pepper seeds, Lorn cleaned the kitchen once more and waited for his boss, idly snacking on the fruits of his labors.

“Morning Lorn. How went the night?” Looking up from the bowl in his hand, he saw Sal, dressed in something closer to traveling leathers under his uniform shirt, with a small bow and quiver at his back.

“Went quietly. Had some time to get some stuff cooked up for the guards and knights this evening.”

“Ah, that's what I forgot to tell you. Sorry about that, I was busy getting ready to head out with Elisa and the rest of the professors. Glad you heard about it anyway. What’d you make?”

Holding out the bowl of chunky red salsa and a handful of crisp tortilla chips, Lorn smiled. “A specialty. Picked it up overseas. Chips, Salsa, and some extra goodies for later.”

Sal quirked an eyebrow and used a chip to scoop up a nice amount of salsa, downing it with a crunch.

Lorn took one himself, letting Sal chew and consider the flavors. “Hmm… Spicy, the peppers have a nice smoky flavor, and the tomato and citrus you added give a nice bite, really brings it forwards. Tastes almost Almyran, but the salt and crunch of those chips? That's a nice change. Most Almyran dishes go for more of a creamy texture and taste, not a salty crunchy one.”

“The salt also makes people thirsty. This isn’t a full meal by itself, its bar food. Salty and spicy enough to keep you drinking to keep satisfied. I got some more standard fare cooked up and chilling in the icebox for meals. Heard something about Aloise and burning?” Lorn finished the last of his chips and washed out the now empty bowl of salsa. Setting it to dry on the racks even as he started untying his outfit and getting ready to end his shift.

Sal nodded at the explanation. “I like it, I’ll need to get the recipe from you for this. Though, I doubt some of the noble kids will like it. The spice and salt? Some of the Adrestian students are not a fan.”

“Then they are missing out. So you and Elisa are heading up with the professors on this training trip, and Johann is following with you?”

“Yep. Sopia and Vera will be covering the day shift for the most part. I doubt we’ll get busy.”

Nodding, Lorn smiled. “It’ll be nice to hang out with them a bit more.”

“They’re looking forwards to it. And I am sorry for the hectic schedule recently. Normally you’d be swapping shifts around a bit more, but the start of semester madness is always an issue.” Sal frowned at a loaf of bread as he tested it, before adding it to a basket.

“Relax, Sal. I’m more than fine with the night shift. I worked at a bar for the last year, and I rarely slept before the sun came up even before that.” Lorn folded up and tucked away his uniform and apron, leaving only black slacks, white shirt, and a pale blue vest under it, his bandanna being pulled off to show the loose french braid down the center that held his hair back, the sides trimmed short. A moment of threading his fingers through left his hair to hang in large loose curls to his shoulders.

"Anyway. I'm off to get some sleep. Hope that your trip goes well."

Waving goodbye, Sal got back to work on prepping breakfast. As Lorn threaded through the tables of the dining hall towards the gardens, waving as the tall, dark-haired Johann walked in, also dressed in traveling gear.

"Nice night?"

"Went okay. Leave the stuff on the left shelf in the cooler for me yeah. It’s for the guards and knights later."

"Will do. Have a nice morning."

With a last wave, Lorn headed off. He was planning to wander a bit, explore a bit more of the monastery.

Humming as he turned to wander down the alley between the sauna and the dorms, he headed for the outer edge of the academy grounds. Soon his aimless song picked up a tune, and he spoke, pitching his voice low in one of his favorite Voltaire songs.

_**"**My granny while on her deathbed,_

_She turned and said to me,_

_"Why must you view life so morbidly?_

_I tried to teach you right,_

_But somewhere I went wrong,_

_'Cause you sing those death, death, devil, devil, evil, evil songs~"_

As he passed further into the grounds of the castle, he didn't notice a pair of green eyes look out at his figure from her dormitory window.

"I've never heard that song before… how curious." Sadly, she had no chance to go and investigate. The houses were heading out to the training grounds in only a few hours, and she would have to be at her best.

* * *

Hours later, riding on a horse through the woods towards the training grounds, Dorothea Arnault didn't notice she was humming the same tune the man had been singing only hours earlier.


	8. Shamir (D-rank)

There were a variety of ranks for knights in the Order of Seiros, from squires and scouts up to the ranks of calvary and mages. But, it was known that Rhea’s personal guards, her Knight Commanders, were the best of the best. Catherine, the Thunderbrand, was the leader of her infantry and swordsmen, her blade and the source of her alias marking her skill. Alois had taken over the calvary in the decades since the Blade Breaker had vanished, while Gilbert was in charge of the heavy armor.

Among the Order, however, Shamir was nearly unique.

She wasn’t, after all, a trained knight who had attended the monastery.

She had gotten her skills out in the world, working and fighting as a mercenary. She fought outside the classical rules and strictures of the Knights, but her skills put her in the same league as the Commanders. She, however, did not hold an actual rank. Instead, she was under Rhea’s direct command most of the time, taking ‘quiet’ missions to track down and manage church interests.

Because of this, when the commanders and Rhea ventured forth, she was left to watch the antics of the knights and guardsmen left behind, unneeded for the classes and lessons.

* * *

The early evening had brought with it a handcart of kegs from the direction of the market, and a half dozen guardsmen venturing to the kitchen. The new cook there apparently ruled with passion, sending out half a dozen platters of spicy food that people could pick and eat without worrying about grace or decorum.

As guards and the faculty gathered, drinks were poured and food passed among the tables that had been dragged to the pavilion near the pond.

Shamir settled in on the stone crenelations near the kitchen, letting the scent of spiced food and good mead drift by her. She nursed her own tankard with measured grace, eyes drifting over the festivities below. She quirked an eyebrow at the fact that the usual games had already started appearing—a hay bale with a wooden board and target painted on it was being dragged into place against the edge of the water, a collection of mismatched throwing axes piled by it.

As the sun began to sink low, the cook himself joined the festivities, a glass bottle of a golden-colored spirit in his loose grip. Against the fairly consistent greens and browns of the knights and their armor and uniforms, the young newcomer stood out. His dark hair was tied back with blue cloth and his black work shirt was hanging loose, a deep muted purple shirt showing through. Shamir took her time dissecting his outfit from the black pants that seemed taken from the academy uniform to the well-worn boots. His stance was alert, but not quite in the same way that she saw off knights… it was familiar, in a strange way.

As the festivities wore on, she quirked a lip as a pair of knights began to needle the cook, gesturing to the target.

She leaned forward as he threw up his hands, walking over to the cleared area before the target and taking a pair of axes from a knight.

A moment passed, the cook shifting and swinging the axes loosely, before cocking his arm back and shifting his stance, lining up on the hay bale.

_‘Huh. Not the worst throwing stance… but it’s not for axes… Hmmm.’_

A thud echoed out, the ax embedding into the wooden target with a solid cut. A moment later, the second followed. Both axes were off-center, missing the bullseye by a few feet, but they were solid hits. The cheers of the knights and guards with the cook were clear even from her perch, but she quirked an eye. A memory came to her, of her partner, laughing as she learned to throw knives.

_“Don’t you know these aren’t axes?”_

_“Oh, I know, I just like seeing you laugh at me.”_

The memory faded away, and she sighed at the familiar ache. She couldn’t bring her back... But… Shoving off, she smirked as she headed to the armory.

_‘Let’s see what you can do with your preferred weapon. _ _Who knows. I might even get a laugh out of it._

* * *

Lorn smirked into his mug, looking over the top at the clearly tipsy Garren, who was scowling slightly.

“How are you not swaying, Looorrnnnn,” the gatekeeper was flushed, and shook his head. “I’m barely keeping up!”

“I’ve worked in and out of taverns and bars since I could drink. This? This is the easy part.” To make his point, Lorn gave a toast, before he raised the tankard up and drank it with slow easy gulps, head twisted to the side so he could clearly see the incandescent blush hit Garren’s face at the sight. With a sigh, Lorn set the now empty tankard on the bench. “See? Easy.”

Dorne and Jules, the two other guards who sat next to them, chuckled, while from behind them, Cassandra, one of the knights, let loose a low whistle. “That? That was sexy. How the fuck do you do that thing with your throat?”

Lorn laughed and winked. “If you grab me another tankard, I’ll teach you.”

A thud and the five looked to see a leather bundle at Lorns side. As the cook’s eyes traced up from the leather pack, he blinked and felt his throat get quite a bit dryer. Dark leather, deep forest green cloth, knives, and arrows. Oh, and the curves. those were some very nice curves and corset.

_Holy shit the curves._

Lorn would admit he had a few types of people he was attracted to. The woman leaning over him, stone faced but with the slightest smirk, was a big one. And judging by the glint of humor in her amethyst eyes, she absolutely knew it.

“I saw you throw axes earlier. Can you throw knives?”

Swallowing slowly, Lorn let a smirk grow across his lips. “Better than axes.”

She tapped the bundle. “Prove it.”

Well. How could he refuse?

* * *

The crowd shouted as the thuds of knives rang out across the pavilion. Garren was shouting and grinning with his coworkers, seeing Lorn throw knives one-handed with confidence, while the other hand wrapped around his tankard held to his lips, adam’s apple bobbing as he drained his third round of mead since he had started this little show. The last knife thudded home, clustered with the rest around the second ring of the target. Not amazing for a trained knight, but for the half-drunk cook? That was _damned _impressive.

The fact that Shamir, the Distant Archer herself, had asked to see his skill? It was very cool. As the crowd cheered, Shamir nodded and said something, before glancing over Lorn’s shoulder at Garren. A shove sent the cook stumbling even as he laughed, right into Garren’s arms.

As the two of them staggered off, the crowd turned towards the targets as two more knights stepped up with axes.

“Where did you learn to throw knives?”

“I’m a cook? I hold a knife more than most knights hold their axes.” Lorn smiled, and Garren felt his cheeks blush hotter.

“Makes sense.” As they both headed back to their seats, Garren glanced down at the leather bundle in Lorns hand. “The knives?”

“Hmmm, said she wants more people to use em. Most of you knights and guards prefer bigger weapons. Or bows.” blinking, Lorn shook his head, the knot of his hair loosening and long locks hanging down past his eyes.

‘_Ah shit, why is he so cute?’_

Instead of blushing any harder, Garren looked away and drank his ale.

“Hey, Garren?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

* * *

Shamir leaned against the wall, having snuck away from the party. She reached down and slid a knife from her boot, and smiled softly at the names etched along the blade.

“I miss you…”


End file.
